


Sherlollipops - Honourable Mention

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [119]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5312054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bookworm81 on ff.net said: I don't have tumblr, so I'm taking the liberty of PMing you on here, if you don't mind.  Since Mr. Cumberbatch received his OBE from Her Majesty earlier today, I would love to see a one-shot in 'Sherlollypops' of Sherlock receiving the same honor.  It would be amusing to see how Sherlock would deal with taking part in an Investiture.  Molly should be there too, of course.  She would help him stay in line, and remain sane. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and your writing is a pleasure to read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Honourable Mention

**Author's Note:**

> OBE: Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire

“This is utterly ridiculous! I should never have allowed Mycroft to blackmail me into this insanity!”

Molly Hooper, Specialist Registrar, sighed and hurried after Sherlock Holmes as he paced and raged around the private room where they’d been sent to wait for the ceremony to begin. Mycroft had arranged it, wisely deducing that leaving his younger brother to mill about with the others set to receive honours from the Queen would be A Very Bad Idea.

He’d even more wisely decreed that Molly would keep Sherlock company rather than his best friend John Watson because, in his words: “The two of them would likely steal the liveries of some of the staff and swan off together on some ridiculous adventure or other.”

Neither Molly nor John’s wife Mary could disagree with that assessment. Which was why Mycroft and the Watsons were mingling with the other guests and Molly was chasing after Sherlock as he headed for the door. The door he was NOT supposed to go near until someone came to fetch them.

Grabbing her floor-length yellow gown in one hand and holding her half-empty wineglass in the other, Molly prayed she wouldn’t trip and break an ankle as she teetered after him on her high heels. “Sherlock Holmes!” she hissed as he reached for the door handle. “Get back here right now!”

“Make me,” he sneered without looking back at her. 

Oh, he did NOT just say that to her! Eyes narrowed, lips thinned, a very dangerous furrow between her brows, Molly let go of her gown, reached out and grabbed his wrist, yanking hard. Clearly not expecting such aggressive behaviour, Sherlock grunted with surprise and released his loose grip on the handle, arms wind-milling a bit as she pulled him off balance.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” Molly said between gritted teeth, “if you don’t stop acting like a spoiled brat, so help me I’ll, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” he demanded while she groped after a threat that might actually give him pause. 

“I’ll…restrict your access to the morgue for a month!”

He smirked insolently…but kept his hands off the door handle, instead electing to lean against it, arms folded over his chest. “Nope,” he said, popping the final p in that obnoxious way he had. “Not your call to make, it’s up to Mike Stamford and he thinks I hung the moon.”

Molly narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll ‘accidentally’ lose the results of those mold experiments you’ve been running in the Path lab.” _Take THAT Mr. ‘I hung the moon’!_

Sherlock narrowed his eyes right back at her, leaning forward a bit and dropping his arms to his sides. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Molly raised her head and gave him her most challenging stare. “Try me.”

Instead of looking offended or offering some cutting remark, Sherlock leaned his head forward a bit more until they were practically nose-to-nose. “I would very much like to try you, Molly Hooper. Baker Street, after this ridiculous ceremony is over? For dinner and…whatever might happen after dinner?”

Wait, what? When had this turned into some kind of – surely it wasn’t actually a _flirtation_? Sherlock? And her? No, it had to be a trick, a way to put her on the back foot while he completed his attempt to flee her supervision. Well, she was onto him; reaching out nonchalantly, Molly took a firm grip on the door handle and wedged one foot against the bottom of the door. “Sherlock, don’t you even _think_ about pretending to flirt with me just to distract me!”

Ah, there was the offended look she’d been waiting for. He straightened to his full (impressive) height and looked down his aristocratic nose at her. “I haven’t pretended to flirt with you since before Reichenbach, and I know better than to do so now!”

“Then what was all that about dinner and, and trying me?” she demanded, feeling her heart start to hammer in her chest. She was still awkwardly sort of half-wrapped around Sherlock (but not actually touching him) in her attempts to keep him from opening the door, even though they both knew if he was truly determined to exit the room, there was very little she could do to stop him, self-defense lessons or no self-defense lessons. Plus of course she still had her champagne flute to contend with.

That little obstacle was removed – literally – when Sherlock plucked the glass from her hand, drained the remaining liquid, and set it on the little table to his right before answering her. “Isn’t it obvious, Molly?” Damn him, he’d lowered his voice a full octave, sending a bit of a shiver up her spine and making it hard to breathe. 

“Spell it out for me,” she breathed as he once again lowered his head so that they could look directly into one another’s eyes.

“I only agreed to receive this so-called ‘honour’ because John told me that you were excited for me. It’s why I asked you to join us here. So you could see the Queen pin a medal to my chest that any third-rate actor could earn just by trotting his face out on stage and asking theater-goers to donate to the cause du jour.”

Any objections Molly might have been about to raise at that dismissive description of one of the highest honours of the land were effectively silenced by Sherlock’s lips descending to meet hers.

A few breathless minutes later, Molly realized two things: she was no longer holding onto the door as both hands were occupied with clutching Sherlock’s elegant black lapels as if her life depended on it, and someone was knocking at the door. “I guess it’s time for the ceremony,” she managed after a few tries at finding her voice.

“I guess it is,” Sherlock murmured regretfully. “But afterwards? The offer still stands.”

“Um, yeah, sure, of course,” Molly said, still feeling a bit dazed. “Can I ask why now? After all these years?”

He lifted her hands from his jacket and took the time to kiss each one on the knuckles before gently lowering them to her sides. “Because of the case I’m being honoured for. Yes, I know it’s for my body of work, as it were, but this particular case struck a little too close to home.” His voice roughened as he continued, “I nearly lost you, Molly, to that lunatic posing as Moriarty. After you’d freed yourself and we had him in custody, I made a decision not to waste another minute of time we could be spending together. So. Dinner and whatever happens after. It’s a date?”

“It’s a date!” Molly replied, the daze lifting a bit. Sherlock had just asked her on a date. And she’d accepted.

She took his arm when he offered it, smiling happily as he opened the door and they were escorted to the main hall where the ceremony was to take place. She watched from the sidelines with John, Mary, Mycroft and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes as Sherlock stepped up in front of the Queen, stoically accepting his honour. She wondered along with the rest of them exactly what the Queen said when she shook his hand and spoke quietly with him. Judging by the expression on his face, it wasn’t something he’d expected at all. Judging by the delighted smile she gave him when he responded, he’d acquitted himself well.

After he’d rejoined them, Sherlock handed his mother the medal and took Molly firmly by the hand. “There, add that to the small box of awards and memorabilia you’ve got stashed away in the attic,” he said. “Thanks for a lovely time, glad you all could come, Molly and I have plans and no, none of the rest of you are invited. Toodles!”

Molly waved apologetically to the rather stunned looking group of friends and family as Sherlock began walking away, his firm grip on her hand keeping her from falling behind as they threaded their way through the milling throng. “Sherlock,” she hissed as soon as they were forced to slow down and she could catch her breath, “that was incredibly rude!”

“Which is exactly what they all expected from me,” he said dismissively. “Trust me, they’re just glad I didn’t disgrace myself in front of Her Majesty.”

“It looked like she said something you weren’t expecting,” Molly ventured after a moment, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What did she ask you?”

Sherlock grimaced as they finally made their way out the door and into a waiting cab. Really, his ability to summon the vehicles was nothing short of supernatural! And how he managed to avoid the press was truly impressive. “She said she was glad I was wearing more than a sheet this time. And asked me if I ever planned to return the ashtray I stole the last time I was in Buckingham Palace.”

“How did she know about that?”

This time Sherlock gave her a cheeky grin as he replied. “Apparently Her Majesty is a fan of John’s blog.” The grin turned sensuous as he pulled her closer to him. “Now, Miss Hooper, about those possible after-dinner activities…I have a few ideas if you’re amenable.”

All conversation ceased for the remainder of the ride, and if the cabbie was forced to chide his passengers more than once about what constituted acceptable behaviour in his vehicle, he had the good taste not to sell that information to any tabloids afterwards!


End file.
